by Claire, Ava
“No,” I answered, biting back the desire to scream, YES! and shake some sense into her. “To do-overs.”
“Do-overs?”
I nodded slowly. “For the chance to show you how much Jacob meant to me...and not through an article or cluster of pics on some blog. To the chance to have my best friend by my side, reminding me that love meant more than all the other BS. For being here for me today.” My nostril flared as I watched the emotion fill her eyes. “And I hope you know I’m here for you too, Meg.”
She sniffed and clinked her glass against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”
We both swallowed down some booze and I tried to focus on the warmth and not the burning questions in my head. But I saw Jacob and Mark strolling through the rooms and it just made me angry all over again.
She saw my pursed lips and her face hardened. “Not today. Today is about you, Leila.”
I heard the sound of the elevator, meaning the final guests were coming up, so I conceded defeat. For now.
Clarissa breezed over to us, giving Megan a cordial smile before she turned to me. “Everything’s ready to go, Miss Montgomery. Congratulations and have a wonderful evening.”
Megan walked over to the sculpture in the living room, admiring it. Changing the subject. “She did a great job. It’s beautiful in here.”
Nice try. “Megan, I really think we should talk about this.”
“Leila dear!” I could pick my mother’s screech out of a sold out concert over the whoops of delight and guttural riffs. I threw Megan a silent ‘we’re not done here’ and wheeled to face her.
She’d gone all out, wearing a sleeveless fuchsia dress and dangling earrings. Her brown hair was highlighted and she towered over my father in heels. She took a long look at me. “This little black dress is beautiful, sweetheart.”
It was an ebony colored spaghetti strap number that was chic enough to be elegant but the knee length hem kept it casual.
Dad stepped up beside her, adorably holding out an orchid.
I gave him a bright smile. “Thank you so much.” I deposited it on the counter and swiveled back to the living room area, ready to show off the place and the touches added for tonight. I gestured for them to follow, wanting to give them a tour. “Let me show you-”
Mom yanked my left hand toward her face. “I told you Earl! She’s engaged!” She brought my hand to her eyes, squinting. “Where’s the ring?”
****
I’d been awake for what felt like hours, watching the sun chase the shadows until there was only light. I wasn’t avoiding the day per se, but I was comfortable. I was cuddled up with the next best thing to Jacob, a big, fluffy pillow that smelled like him: fresh, with hints of musk and a smell that was uniquely his. I was perfectly situated, the cotton candy soft covers wrapping me in the world’s most comfortable burrito. And I knew once I threw the covers off I’d have to think. I’d have to remember the horrible night I was pretending I wasn’t avoiding.
Jacob had tried to be covert when he hired the party planner, but I’d seen the invoice. $500/hour plus the less than 24 hour fee of $375 equaled a whole lot of money just so I could relax. Focus on us. Focus on sharing our wonderful news.
Eight hundred and seventy five dollars down the drain because my mother fixated on the fact that I was ring-less. I’d counted six, six times that she found some slightly different way to ask why my ring finger was bare.
Questions like, “Are you still shopping around for a ring?” and “I’m sure Jacob has something special tucked away to give you soon!” and “Is there a big reveal after dinner?” Poor Jacob probably regretted offering the use of his hand as my stress ball when I nearly crushed every single bone after she had the nerve to ask if Whitmore and Creighton was having financial problems. Dad picked upon my nonverbal cues—deadening silence, grinding my teeth, downing three bottles of wine in the span of two hours—and put me out of my misery, claiming that he wasn’t feeling too hot.
And then there was Megan and Mark. I could barely keep my eyes off him. I was sure I caught him winking, savoring that fact. I couldn’t deny that he was attractive. All-American good looks paired with his blond hair and bright baby blues. He was dressed in head to toe Abercrombie and Fitch, reeking prep and holding himself like a man that had been told he was cute one too many times...and all but ignoring his date like a man who’d broken one too many hearts.
He was so obviously sketchy it was ridiculous. Just what was Megan trying to prove by bringing him to this private function? I’d barely been engaged for 24 hours and I was already feeling Bridezilla coming on, but of the eloping variety. At the moment, I didn’t want to see anyone’s face but Jacob’s.
Jacob. I pulled the pillow close and inhaled deep. Catastrophic dinner or not, no one could take away that moment. The first bars of that song hushing the crowd. My heart skyrocketing to my throat. My brain officially on the fritz because it was happening. Eyes locked, souls so in tuned that I just knew, before I took a step toward the stage, what would come next. He was going to ask me that question. The question I knew I’d say yes to before it even left his lips.
And we were gonna get married.
“Married.” I said out loud, the words bouncing off the walls and settling back on me. “Mrs. Leila Whitmore.” Or would I keep my name? Hyphenate? It all seemed to pale in comparison to the greater thing. Marrying him. After the contract, the worries, Rachel Laraby, and Cade Wallace, we’d figured it out and it would be just he and I, just like this. Always.
My arms slackened on the pillow. Just like this? Me snuggling with a pillow? I threw it back on his side of the bed and unrolled myself from the covers. I stretched my arms wide and let out a lazy yawn.
Jacob better have all kinds of coffee...
I froze just outside the door, hearing hushed, nearly muted voices filter up to the second level. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:35. Not the wee hours of the AM, but definitely too early for visitors. I was infinitely closer to a morning person than Jacob was, especially on the weekends. Everyone at the office knew to not even send him an email before 10 am. He spent the first few hours of his day replying to messages, checking out the financials, things that didn’t require human interaction.
But I could hear the disdain in his voice. He wasn’t just interacting. He was arguing with someone.
I hovered at the landing, fingering a hole in my old, worn t-shirt. I felt like I was eavesdropping, even though Jacob had told me a million times that this was our home, what’s his was mine and vice versa. But he had so much. It was easy to forget, to be overwhelmed and feel like I was a visitor.
I heard ‘Leila’ ring out in a female, uncomfortably familiar voice. A voice that was speaking my name like it was a cuss word.
Alicia.
I don’t know if it was the fight end of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in or a desire to look her in the face and tell her I wasn’t going anywhere (again), but my legs were moving down the stairs at lightning speed. They were in the library, Jacob at the fireplace, dangerously close to the fire poker. Alicia was sprawled out in one of the chairs like she owned the place.
Naturally.
Jacob was the first to notice me, his expression softening almost guilty. “Leila...I didn’t know you were up.”
Alicia tossed me a wilting look that she exacerbated with a perfectly disgusted scowl. “Well, at least she bothered to put on a bra this time.”
The annoyed, slightly juvenile part of me wanted to whip it off and toss it in her self-righteous face with a whoop, but I didn’t want to give her the pleasure of the added effort. “Alicia.”
“It’s Mrs. Whitmore,” she corrected, her tone frosty enough to make hell freeze over.
I wished I was better at playing this game, at pretending being around people I hated was easy as pie, but I stalked over to Jacob, knowing every bone in my body was spoiling for a fight. When I stepped up beside him, I realized that he probably wasn’t at the mantle because he was conside
ring something homicidal but because it was the farthest point from Alicia.
Somehow, it still wasn’t nearly far enough. The woman could turn a glare into poison. I felt queasy just being on the receiving end of it.
I took Jacob’s hand and nudged him toward me. I didn’t care about her. I knew the number she’d done on him. The life he’d lived that almost drove him to suicide.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
“Did you just ask my son if he was okay?” she said indignantly. She pursed her lips into a thin, no-nonsense line that matched the two piece charcoal gray suit she wore. “What are you implying? That a mere conversation with me would do him harm?”
I kept my eyes on him, but directed my answer at her. “I’m implying that your negativity isn’t good for anyone. This is a happy time for us.”
“A happy time for you, maybe,” she replied coolly. “Mrs. Jacob Whitmore...as soon as you say ‘I do’ your net worth increases substantially.”
His eyes were pleading. Well, as close as Jacob’s stark blue eyes got to asking for anything. Asking wasn’t even in his dictionary—Jacob commanded. But they were soft and I knew he was telling me to keep my cool. She just wanted a reaction, like all bullies did.
I spun to face her, ignoring my own little voice that told me I was just feeding the fire. “I know your marriage was about money. But that’s not why I’m marrying your son.”
“You’re marrying for love, right?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Right.”
“So there will be a prenuptial agreement.”
Jacob and I both rushed to answer her, each reply on the other side of the coin. He said absolutely not—my answer was missing the whole ‘not’ part.
We exchanged a look and she let out an airy, condescending laugh.
“Engaged, and you haven’t even discussed one of the most important things.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Everything happened so fast; being swept into Jacob’s world. Living, loving...being dumped in the lap of luxury had its perks. The jet, the fancy restaurants, the clothing, all the trappings of wealth and prestige. But I’d fallen in love with the man. The strong, confounding, dominant man. I wasn’t expecting some payout on the off chance that our marriage came to an end. I only wanted my fair share, whatever that meant.
I could tell the prenup conversation was far from over, but whatever frustration the topic brought Jacob was hurled at his mother. “I never should have allowed you to come here.”
“You could have denied me access to the elevator. Had me thrown out like you threatened the last time I was here.” Her gray eyes glittered like she had something up her sleeve, one last trick that would change the whole game. “You try to make me the bad guy in all of this—a bad mother. But if that’s so, why did you invite me here?”
I had no words, gaping, waiting for the answer to that question myself. Last night after everyone left, the one thing that brought a smile to my face was a joke he’d made before whisking me up to bed to make me smile for a totally different, R-rated kind of reason.
“You know what the party needed?” he’d said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“More booze?”
“Another guest.” I’d frowned and he’d finished, “My mother.”
I’d recoiled like he’d just said the most ludicrous thing ever before he laughed. Jacob, my gladiator of a man who was so used to hiding away anything that made him vulnerable, had thrown his head back and laughed.
It was a joke; one I’d agreed was a good one because I thought we were on the same page—Alicia Whitmore in our home=a very bad idea. But he’d called her. He was the reason she was lounging in our living room like she was some goddess come down from Olympus, gracing us with her presence and infinite, useless knowledge.
Jacob ran a hand through his dark locks and I noticed things I’d missed because I was so tuned into Alicia. He was in a navy button down shirt and deep, nearly caramel colored khakis. To the passing eye he was the picture of collected. But I saw now that his shirt was riddled with wrinkles as were his pants. His hair had the rough, I’ve-been-running-my-hands-through-it-for-hours look about it. And I saw the shadows beneath his eyes. I couldn't be mad because he didn’t tell me about wanting to talk to her and invited her here. He’d already beaten himself up about it.
“I asked you here because I don’t believe you can look us both in the face and say no.”
Alicia frowned, confused. “What?”
“I want you to tell me why you won’t give me my grandmother’s ring. To tell us.”
I brought my hand to my heart, almost like I was trying to remember it was there. That I was alive and this was all happening.
I wanted to move to Jacob, to tell him to brace himself for the worst because despite the animosity he held for her, it was clear he still cared about his mom. That he believed that somewhere, somehow, she could still be reached. And I knew from the way her lip curved upward, her eyes lingering on me before they returned to her son, that she was about to do something she thought would hurt me but would really just hurt the person neither of us truly wanted to bring any pain.
Jacob.
“Your grandmother left the ring to your father and he entrusted it to me. When you meet someone worthy of her memory, I will give you the ring. But I’m telling you, both of you, as long as I have breath in my body, Leila Montgomery’s fingers will never touch it.”
****
After an engagement dinner filled with my mother finding several different ways to ask about the lack of a wedding ring, having to play nice as Mark cozied up to Megan, and Alicia Whitmore reaffirming her dedication to keeping me away from the family ring as long as possible, I couldn’t wait to get back to work. Mia Kent, Whitmore and Creighton’s newest client, would be just the challenge to take my mind off the disastrous evening.
Mia couldn’t keep her name out of the tabloids lately. Golden hair, cherubic features and a voice that gave singers twice her age a run for their money made her a household name. She starred in bubblegum pop TV series on a kid friendly channel until she hit eighteen and decided to shed her good girl image in favor of something on the other side of the spectrum. Shots of her public intoxication, flipping cameras the bird, and unabashed drug use had everyone playing Dr. Phil, trying to save Mia from herself. But public scrutiny intensified and she spiraled further into dangerous territory. She shaved one side of her head, let some poor excuse for a tat artist doodle all over her body and started hanging on the arm of a different skeevy guy every night of the week.
While her public image had taken a beating, she hadn’t alienated the music industry. Top executives were still clamoring to sign her, hoping to be the launching pad for her unreleased album.
She’d come to us herself, the first sign that all hope wasn’t lost—she could admit there was a problem.
I pulled up the agenda, scribbling a couple of notes. There were several charity functions coming up—one of which was a concert for needy children. If we could get her in a gorgeous dress...
“I think I owe you a cup of coffee.”
I nearly snapped my pen in half. I didn’t even have to look up to know it was Missy. I recognized the entitlement, the subtle notes of ‘I’m better than you’. The edge that cut when she deigned to speak to me, making it crystal clear that she’d rather be doing anything other than giving me her precious time. But why was she here?
I narrowed my eyes, confusion lasting for a split second. Coffee—that’s right. We’d attempted a truce before and she tried to buy me coffee. I made it clear that I wasn’t good at pretending and didn’t want to owe her anything. It was no secret that she thought my input was worth less than nothing, so I was surprised she was standing at my door doing the exact thing that caused drama the first time around.
She held out the cup. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just threw some Splenda and a little bit of skim milk in.”
My mouth twitched at the
skim and zero calorie sweetener, “What are you trying to say?” on my tongue. But I remained silent, my eyes trained on her as she strolled in with no invite and plunked the coffee on my desk. This woman had some serious nerve.
“It’s not spiked,” she said with a smirk. “I promise.”
I didn’t accept her peace offering. Maybe she wasn’t trying to poison me, but I didn’t believe that her intentions were honorable either. “I’m good.”
Her face twisted like she was sucking on a lemon before she shrugged and picked it back up. “I’ll be more than happy to drink it myself.”
“You do that.”
“It’s not always you against the world, Leila. Why can’t I do something nice for you?”
“Oh please,” I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I would be all kinds of stupid to believe you’re completely above board. You’ve had it out for me since I walked through the door. And you’re buddies with Rachel-”
“Friends with Rachel?” She laughed like that was the funniest joke she’d heard in a long time. “I know you’re not talking about Rachel Laraby.”
I didn’t even crack a grin. “I think we both know that’s exactly who I’m talking about.”
Missy flipped her bone straight midnight hair over her shoulder with a snort. “Rachel Laraby and I aren’t friends. She treats anyone that works for her like they were born for the sole purpose of being at her beck and call.”
I faltered. I hadn’t been expecting our Rachel’s to line up. I was expecting her to sing Rachel’s praises and talk about how they bonded over caldrons, full moons, and a mutual dislike of me. But they’d been together at the party...it didn’t match up with the slighted disposition in front of me.
“I thought...” I swallowed, making sure I stripped any emotion except for indifference from my voice. “I just assumed you were friends.” And that’s why you were trying to make friendship bracelets with me over coffee. Rachel’s little spy.
“No,” she replied, raising her chin. “Rachel Laraby is a client and nothing more.”
